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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26070442">to see him as you'd see a star</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderbri/pseuds/tenderbri'>tenderbri</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Teachers, Early Queen (Band), Eventual Smut, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Queen (Band), Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:35:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,362</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26070442</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderbri/pseuds/tenderbri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Brian May accepts a temporary teaching job at Stockwell Manor Comprehensive to help make ends meet, he feels like he’s bitten off more than he can chew. Having to deal with disobedient and unmotivated teenagers, on top of struggling through his PhD and trying to make it with his band Smile, turns out to be more difficult than expected. And then there's his new colleague, the charismatic art teacher Freddie "Mercury" Bulsara whom Brian somehow can't stop thinking about.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brian May/Freddie Mercury</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>to see him as you'd see a star</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a Maycury Teachers AU. It should be said that Brian actually DID teach at Stockwell Manor Comprehensive for a year in the early 70s, but Freddie obviously didn't and so this is where we stray into AU territory. Also, the only thing that I took over from the original Stockwell was the name and one or two anecdotes Brian or his students have told about him teaching there.<br/>Other timelines have been changed around a bit to fit the narrative. The year this is set in is vaguely 1970-shaped.</p><p>Warning for this chapter: A character is described throwing up due to [spoiler, kinda:] migraine pain and anxiety.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brian rubbed the bridge of his nose nervously, checking his reflection one last time in the wing mirror of Roger’s beat-up little Morris Minor, which his bandmate had kindly agreed to loan him for the day. His curls, still recovering from quite a misguided flat-iron phase, were thankfully behaving today and apart from a tiny cut on his freshly shaven jaw, Brian thought he looked quite presentable.</p><p>Even though it was only September, he felt a distinct morning chill creep into his bones as he locked the car door, shifted his bag onto his shoulder and made his way across the little road to the front gates of Stockwell Manor Comprehensive.</p><p>It was the first day of term and even though Brian was fairly early, there were already little clusters of students making their way into the dingy courtyard. Casting a surreptitious glance towards a group of especially loud and spotty fourteen-year-olds who were taking turns shoving each other into a bush while yelling quite extraordinary expletives, Brian wondered if these kids were in one of the maths classes he was teaching this term and his stomach lurched uncomfortably.</p><p>He was entering completely foreign territory today: this was his first non-weekend, non-band-related, respectable, academic (sort of), grown-up job. His father had been sure to point that out  when he’d phoned his parents to tell them the news about his new substitute teaching position. His Dad had sounded just a little too pleased about the prospect of his son investing more of his time in academic pursuits, such as teaching and finishing his PhD, which would finally steer him away from music and other such pointless pursuits.</p><p>Brian was worried his father was right.</p><p>He’d originally applied for the job because he needed money. Smile didn’t get nearly enough gigs to be able to live off those wages alone and his grant money barely helped cover the rest. Their rent was always paid late, and if they wanted to get back in the studio any time soon so they could actually get some decent demos circulating, more financial support was needed. </p><p>But now, standing in a school courtyard at half eight in the morning, he couldn’t help but feel like this was a step further away from that life. He was holding a briefcase, not a guitar case, his setlist was a lesson plan and his shirt collar was uncomfortably buttoned-up and work-appropriate. He felt out of place and wrong, like a little boy playing dress up in his father’s clothes, the fun’s over, time to go work a proper job.</p><p>Tightening his grip on his bag strap, Brian shoved those thoughts aside and with a deep breath, he stalked up the steps to the front entrance.</p><p> </p><p>The staff room at Stockwell Manor Comprehensive was small and gloomy and filled with a stuffy haze of smoke and Brian let out an involuntary cough as he peered around, slightly forlorn. There were a couple of teachers already here, some reading the newspaper, some chatting quietly with each other, completely ignoring the newcomer. He was just beginning to agonise over whom to approach, when a sharp and brisk voice rang out from directly behind him.</p><p>“You’ll be the new one, then?”</p><p>Brian nearly jumped out of his skin and he whipped around, almost hitting the person with his bag in the process. To his chagrin, the person happened to be a remarkably pretty, if quite stressed-looking young woman who was surveying him expectantly, a large stack of important looking folders in her hand. Brian dimly recognised her from when he’d gone in for his interview several weeks back. She had been sat at a desk outside the headmaster’s office and had worn the same harried and pinched look as she did now. She was obviously a secretary of some sort, run off her feet on the first day of term.</p><p>Brian stretched out a hand which he hoped wasn’t too clammy from anxiety and gave the woman his best smile.</p><p>“Oh! Yeah. Hi, I’m Brian. Brian May. I think we met at my interview...Headmaster Thompson’s secretary, right?”</p><p>The woman arched an eyebrow.</p><p>“Deputy Headmistress Cole,” she said slowly and precisely. Brian couldn’t help but gape at her.</p><p>“Oh! Oh God, I’m so sorry, I, er–” he floundered, stomach plummeting at his faux pas.</p><p>“Yes, indeed,” she said and looked Brian up and down, coolly.</p><p>Brian wilted beneath her gaze, face on fire with embarrassment. He kicked himself for being so tactless. But she looked so young and she was holding all those folders and he simply hadn’t expected–</p><p>Brian cut himself off before he started spiralling.</p><p>“Gosh, I- erm. Pleased to meet you,” he mumbled hopelessly, dropping his hand which she’d ignored.</p><p>“Quite,” Ms. Cole impatiently shifted the pile of folders.</p><p>“Mr. May, I would ask you to refer to yourself and your colleagues, including me, by surname. I know this is a bit of a rough school, but we try to maintain a certain standard of respect and professionalism here, nonetheless.”</p><p>Brian nodded hurriedly.</p><p>“Right then. I’m sure Headmaster Thompson informed you about your tasks here during your interview. You’re obviously filling in for several of Mr. Cunningham’s classes...that would be Years Seven, Eight and Ten. Do you have any questions about this term’s timetable we sent you?”</p><p>Brian shook his head hastily.</p><p>“Good. And you checked with Mr. Cunningham and structured your lesson plan for each class accordingly? Can I see it?</p><p>“Oh yeah–I mean YES. Yes, ma’am.”</p><p>Brian fumbled with the flap of his bag for a tortuous few seconds until he managed to wrestle it open and pull out his meticulously drawn up notes which he held out to Ms Cole.</p><p>“Excellent, thank you. If you’d please have a seat while I take a look and fetch the class registers.”</p><p>Without waiting for a reply, she snatched the papers out of Brian’s sweaty grip and swept from the room. Brian sank down into the nearest armchair, feeling quite ill. He glanced about the room, hoping nobody had noticed his mortifying interaction. But nobody seemed to be paying him any attention. And so Brian just sat there for what felt like half an age, awkwardly perched on the lumpy armchair, worrying his bottom lip and staring at the linoleum floor, willing himself to become invisible, and dreading Ms Cole’s return. She would probably tell him that upon further consideration, no, he wasn’t the right fit for this school, that he was disrespectful and unprepared and would he please take himself and his threadbare corduroys straight back home. He’d be out of a job, he’d have to face his parents and ask Roger loan him money for his part of the rent, and–</p><p>“Everything seems in order, Mr. May. Well done.”</p><p>Brian started. He hadn’t heard the deputy headmistress return. Jumping up from his chair, he accepted the folder with his notes that Ms Cole was holding out for him and he tried his best to give her his most genuine smile.</p><p>“Oh, erm. Thank you. I’m glad it’s er– adequate. And can I just say again how awfully sorry I–”</p><p>“Yes, yes, I understand that a woman holding any position of authority over a man must be very confusing,” she said and Brian thought he saw the corner of her mouth twitch. “I’m glad we got this out of the way so we can avoid any awkward small talk in the future.”</p><p>Brian meekly trained his eyes at the floor.</p><p>“Now, I’d give you a tour, but I really don’t have the time. Anyway, your first lesson with Year Ten starts in five minutes, so if you’d just–” she handed Brian another several sheets of paper that appeared to be class registers and a floor plan of the school. Whipping out a red pen, she added, “Year Ten is down the hall, up the stairs, first door on your left, alright?” She drew a spot on the floor plan with her pen and Brian nodded.</p><p>“Good. Off you go then, Mr. May”</p><p>And with a great sense of embarrassment and foreboding, off Brian went.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He could hear the racket all the way to the stairwell and the clamour of voices and shrieks only continued to swell in volume with each leaden step Brian took. When he reached the classroom door, he gave himself a few seconds to collect himself. These were children. Not intimidating Deputy Headmistresses. How hard could it be to deal with a bunch of kids?</p><p>The moment Brian opened the door, he was hit in the head by a piece of chalk, causing him to let out a startled yelp. The noise abruptly cut off as several dozen pairs of eyes turned to face him suspiciously and Brian drew himself up to his most dignified posture – which was made slightly less impressive by the white smudge of chalk in the middle of his forehead.</p><p>“Good morning class, I’ll be your maths teacher for this term.”</p><p>The racket immediately broke out again.</p><p>“What, <em>you</em>?!”</p><p>“You don’t <em> look </em> like a maths teacher.”</p><p>“Why’s your hair so long, then?”</p><p>“Are you even allowed to teach us?”</p><p>“Nonce!”</p><p>“Alright, alright, settle down,” Brian said, voice raised, to no avail. He quietly closed the door behind him and tried several more times to make himself heard, but the noise didn’t let up, and Brian’s anxiety grew. The spot right behind his eye sockets throbbed unpleasantly.</p><p>“OI!!! SHADDAP!!!” he finally bellowed, stalking over to the teacher’s desk and slamming his bag down on the surface. Startled silence ensued.</p><p>Brian exhaled sharply through his nose, surprised that had actually worked. “Thank you,” he said, quietly. “Now.” He bent down to pick up the piece of chalk which had bounced off his head and under the desk and scrawled his name across the board. Then he turned to the spotty faces in front of him with a huff.</p><p>“My name is Mr. May. As I said, I’ll be your maths teacher for the next couple of months.”</p><p>A pale and sullen looking boy, whom Brian recognised with a feeling of dread to be one of the rowdy teens from the courtyard, let out a scoff, “Oh yeah? What happened to Mr. Cum-face?”</p><p>Brian tried not to flinch. “Mr. Cunningham has been suffering from rather serious blood pressure problems, so his workload is being reduced this term. I’ve been temporarily hired to take over some of his lessons,” he said stiffly.</p><p>The boy arched an eyebrow and tipped back in his chair. “Right, yeah....got him so riled up last year, he collapsed right where he stood. Ambulance was called and everything,” he grinned.</p><p>“Your finest work, Gaz,” another boy said and the girl next to him giggled.</p><p>Brian plowed on valiantly, ignoring the comment. “Okay then, let me just take the register...Archer, James? James?”</p><p>He slowly picked his way down the list, trying to remember the face that went with each name. When he reached Gareth “Gaz” Jones there were several whoops, but otherwise he managed to get through checking all the names without further interference. Setting aside the list, Brian leaned back against his desk and surveyed the students expectantly. </p><p>“Alright, can any of you tell me where you left off last term? What was the last thing Mr. Cunningham taught you?”</p><p>“Don’t you have that written down in your little folder?” Gaz smirked.</p><p>Brian stared steadily back at him. “Yeah, but I’d like one of you to explain it in your own words. Just so I can see how much has actually stuck and how much catching up you all need to do.”</p><p>Gaz shrugged, already disinterested and Brian looked around at the other students. “Well?” he asked. “Anybody?”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>While this was certainly preferable to the noisy chatter from before, Brian dreaded the prospect of having to teach a classroom full of mute students. He drummed his fingers against the worn wooden surface of the desk and took a minute to consider the sullen faces before him.</p><p>“Do you all not like maths much, then?” he asked kindly, after a moment.</p><p>There was a pretty unanimous shaking of heads.</p><p>“Okay. I get it.” He didn’t, really. Brian had always loved maths when he’d been at school. What he did get, however, was what it felt like for things to go over your head. Like in his first year of university when he’d had a physics lab partner who had made it a habit to sneer at Brian’s stereoscopic doodles and laugh at him, without Brian ever really understanding why.</p><p>“It’s alright if you don’t immediately understand everything. I’m here to teach you, not tell you off,” Brian said with a small smile. “Now, the first thing on my plan was the pythagorean theorem. According to Mr Cunningham’s notes, you started basic geometry last term...learned about right angles and stuff? Different shapes?”</p><p>Blank stares.</p><p>Brian tiredly rubbed the space beneath his eye. He’d been told by the headmaster that students at this school barely managed to scrape together O-levels and that it was all the teachers could do to even keep kids attending. He was a bit shocked by how bad their motivation really was.</p><p>“Right, erm.” Brian cast his eyes around the room. He smiled at a girl with long curly hair, sat in the first row and racked his brain trying to remember her name. “Adjoa, right?”</p><p>Adjoa nodded nervously.</p><p>“Ok Adjoa, can you tell me what exactly you didn’t understand about geometry last year?”</p><p>This method, finally, seemed to work. To Brian’s great relief, after Adjoa had shyly recounted how Mr. Cunningham had snapped at her for not understanding why a trapeze could also be called a parallelogram, more students piped up with their own queries. They seemed almost grateful when Brian patiently answered even the most basic questions and he wondered sadly whether they’d ever been talked to in any tone other than annoyed condescension.</p><p>The lesson was anything but smooth-sailing. Brian didn’t get to any of the material he’d prepared and he kept madly scribbling notes to keep track of all of the gaps in these kids’ knowledge. By the end of the 90 minutes, Brian had a full-on migraine coming, his shoulders were drawn up and tensed and he felt quite nauseous, but he had nevertheless managed to consistently keep the attention of about half of the students while Gaz and his cronies had kept up a steady chatter in the back of the class and the rest continued to just stare blankly. Brian had barely finished writing out the homework on the board, when the bell rang to signal the break, and there was a collective scraping of chairs followed by a mad dash for the door. Within the timespan of about a minute, the classroom had emptied and Brian found himself suddenly alone.</p><p>With a shaky sigh, he slumped down onto his chair, head in his hands. The release of tension was abrupt and he was suddenly horribly aware of the dancing white dots before his eyes, the throbbing of his head, the rushing noise in his ears and the rising bile in his mouth and with shaky hands, Brian scrabbled around his desk for the floor plan to figure out  where the men’s toilets were.</p><p>It was a lost cause.</p><p>Barely managing to upend the waste paper bin, Brian heaved the contents of his stomach into the bin in gasping retches. He was so busy retching and coughing, he didn’t hear the soft knock on the half open classroom door. Suddenly there was a warm hand on his back and a quiet, melodious voice was speaking to him, and Brian lifted his head, startled and mortified. Through his blurry migraine-ridden vision, Brian could make out a pair of brown eyes.</p><p>“Oh you poor dear–”</p><p>Brian blinked, wiping his mouth, and tried to focus on what the man was saying, but was immediately overcome with another wave of nausea. The man patted his back and waited for Brian to finish retching, then helped him into a sitting position against the wall.</p><p>“I’ll be right back, I’m just getting you some water.”</p><p>After what felt like seconds, rather than minutes, Brian was handed some tissues with which he gratefully wiped his mouth and he caught a whiff of dark and musky perfume as a cold wet wad of paper towels was carefully placed over his closed eyes.</p><p>“There’s a cup of water right next to you, dear,” the voice said. “Take your time. Deep breaths.”</p><p>Too in pain to even care that he was sat in a crumpled heap on a dusty classroom floor with a stranger whom Brian could only assume was another teacher, Brian breathed deeply and tried to find his way back to earth. After a while he noticed that the stranger had taken his hand in his and was running his fingers lightly along the inside of his palm. It was quite soothing, actually. It distracted him slightly from the awful throbbing in his head. Brian lifted his other hand to push aside the damp paper towel and cracked an eyelid. The world swam blurrily into view, way too bright and jarring and Brian squinted painedly.</p><p>“I–,” he wheezed, “I’m so embarrassed. S-sorry.”</p><p>The stroking immediately stopped, the hand was snatched away and the man peered down at him, concerned.</p><p>“Oh no, you poor thing, don’t apologise. What happened?”</p><p>“Migraine.” Brian managed. “Nerves. S’my first day..”</p><p>“You’re the new maths substitute, yeah? I heard they’d hired someone…”</p><p>Brian nodded.</p><p>“Yes, I thought you might be. Gosh, Year Ten is definitely building up a reputation. First Cunningham collapses, now you.”</p><p>Brian managed a shaky nervous laugh. His wits were returning to him and he reached for the glass of water beside him and took intermittent gulps while he surveyed his rescuer through narrowed eyes.</p><p>The man perched on the floor beside him did not look anything like any teacher Brian had ever seen and would’ve looked more at home at one of the clubs Smile might play. He had long black hair that fell in soft waves around his face and down to his shoulders. The clothes he was wearing were elegant and bohemian and entirely work-inappropriate – black trousers so tight they seemed spray-painted on, a satin v-neck shirt with a scooped neckline that showed off dark chest hair, and a cropped jacket that looked like it had come straight out of a 1930s women’s catalogue. Brian’s gaze drifted in awe back to this curious man’s face. He had sharp features – a very straight nose, high cheekbones and eyebrows that slanted up in a striking arch. He would’ve looked almost haughty if it weren’t for his dark eyes which were very soft and kind, and were at present glued to Brian’s face in worry.</p><p>“Are you sure you’re alright?”</p><p>He had a kind of halting way of speaking, sort of quiet and a little shy. This stood in total contrast to his flamboyant appearance.</p><p>Brian nodded. “I have...pills. Could you...front pocket.” He gestured to his bag that was lying open on the desk.</p><p>“Yeah, of course!” The man scrambled up to fetch Brian’s bag and rooted around until he produced the little box of Imigran, broke a pill out of it’s little foil encasing and dropped it into Brian’s hand. Gratefully, Brian knocked it back with another gulp of water.</p><p>“Thanks. Only things that help. ‘Wise I’d be out for the rest of the day.”</p><p>The other man nodded. “That’s good.” Then he gave a little start. “Oh, I didn’t even catch your name.” He stretched out a well-manicured hand and Brian saw he was wearing black nail varnish. “Freddie Bulsara, art teacher.”</p><p>Brian shook his hand. “Brian May. Pleasure. I– er. Sorry my hands are clammy.”</p><p>Mr. Bulsara waved him away affably, “Not to worry, dear. Perfectly understandable.”</p><p>Brian groaned, the gravity of the situation slowly hitting him. “Christ, this is the worst first impression I think I’ve ever made.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t be silly.”</p><p>“Still. I’m really sorry.” Brian swallowed, dreading his next words. “Mr. Bulsara, I suppose you’re going to have to tell Ms Cole and Headmaster Thompson about this…”</p><p>He was probably going to get the sack. They hadn’t hired him to fill in for Mr. Cunningham, only to have him collapse just like <em> he </em> had. Brian felt like crying. He’d lasted all of two hours.</p><p>“Are you mad?” the art teacher exclaimed. “I’d never dream of it. Anyway, you’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve had–” he eyed the bin next to Brian “–a medical emergency.”</p><p>“Well, yes, but–”</p><p>“It was nerves,” Mr. Bulsara said kindly. “That could’ve happened to anybody.”</p><p>Brian felt an immense rush of gratitude towards the other man. This was all new to him and he wasn’t sure about how he was meant to behave and his whole morning had really rattled him. But this man was being very kind and wasn’t making him feel like he was a nuisance even though Brian knew he probably was.</p><p>“Mr. Bulsara, I don’t know what to say.” </p><p>“None of that ‘Mr. Bulsara’ nonsense. Just call me Freddie.”</p><p>“Oh, I thought– okay,” Brian smiled hesitantly. “Well, then please just call me Brian.”</p><p>Freddie smiled back. “Alright, Brian. Listen–”  he glanced at the clock above the door “–my next lesson isn’t ‘til after lunch. And this classroom’s going to be filling up again soon. Do you want to lie low in the art room for a bit ‘til you feel better? It’s quiet, so you can take a nap, and I have tea and biscuits, if you can manage...and, er, mints,” he added, a little twinkle in his eye.</p><p>Brian couldn’t believe how nice his new colleague was being. He ducked his head and looked up at Freddie ruefully. His next lesson also wasn’t until after lunch and he was positively desperate for a cup of tea. </p><p>“That actually sounds…really great. If you’re sure you don’t mind?”</p><p>“Ooh, I would love the company, dear. Come on,” Freddie jumped up and reached out a hand to help Brian up as well.</p><p>“Wait,” Brian bent down and picked up the waste paper bin gingerly. “I can’t forget to. Erm. Take care of this.”</p><p> </p><p>Freddie waited patiently outside the loos while Brian scuttled inside to clean the bin. When he was done, Brian splashed his face with cold water and rinsed the lingering taste out of his mouth as best he could without toothpaste or a toothbrush. His reflection in the cracked mirror above the sinks looked rough to say the least. He was still quite pale and sweaty and he shuddered to think what Freddie must think of him.</p><p>When he stepped out of the toilets, however, Freddie greeted him with a bright smile which made Brian feel less self-conscious. </p><p>“Come along, then,” Freddie said.</p><p>Brian followed Freddie down hallway after hallway and up several stairwells listening to the art teacher dutifully give a running commentary, “Year Seven, Year Eight, Biology Lab, Year Nine, haunted map room – DON’T go in there!”</p><p>Brian just smiled and nodded and tried not to be too wobbly, having to take a break after experiencing a dizzy spell on the stairs. Freddie was great about it though, waiting for him, offering Brian his elbow to steady himself.</p><p>They finally reached the art room, a slightly cluttered but large open space at the top of the east wing with large windows through which the pale morning sunlight was streaming. It felt very different from the rest of the school which was sad and grey and soulless. There was colourful student artwork plastered all over the walls, there were several shelves stuffed with all kinds of materials and supplies, stacks of empty jars, presumably used for painting, and what looked to be bits of a broken easel. The room smelled like dust and turpentine and sunshine and Brian felt somehow put at ease. It was messy, but cosy. </p><p>Freddie ushered him to a small sofa at the back of the room and disappeared through a little side door into what was apparently a tiny kitchen. Brian heard a kettle brewing and the clinking of cups and a little while later Freddie came sailing back into the room with a little tea tray. He plopped himself down next to Brian balancing the tray on top of an overflowing box of what looked to be feather boas that was standing in front of the sofa as a kind of makeshift table.</p><p>“I thought I’d make us some herbal tea, seeing as, well–” Freddie hesitated, “it’s more soothing on the stomach.”</p><p>He handed Brian a steaming mug which Brian accepted gratefully. Being treated so delicately made him feel a little like a Victorian lady who’d just suffered an attack of the vapors – which Brian guessed <em> was </em> sort of the case – but it was honestly quite nice to be fussed over like this. It was not how he’d expected his morning to play out and he felt immensely comforted. His head was even starting to hurt less now that the pills were kicking in and Brian casually eyed the little dish of Digestives on the tea tray. Later, perhaps. </p><p>He carefully took a sip of his tea. It was a slightly minty, perfumy concoction and it tasted heavenly.</p><p>"Thank you so much for all of this. For the rescue and the tea and everything. I'm really–"</p><p>Freddie waved him away airily. "Oh, it's nothing, Brian, really. I'm just glad I passed by your classroom when I did and that I was able to help."</p><p>"Well, I'm very grateful you did. I didn't really fancy being trampled by teenagers when they came back from their break."</p><p>Freddie let out an involuntary snort of laughter and Brian grinned. He was beginning to feel a little less awkward about the whole situation. Drinking a hot beverage together and laughing about an embarrassing incident would do that, as well as the knowledge that he wouldn't be losing his job any time soon – thanks to Freddie swearing secrecy.</p><p>Freddie clasped his own mug of tea and surveyed him with some curiosity.</p><p>“So,” he trailed off.</p><p>Brian smiled, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. “So,” he said.</p><p>“So, how would you say your first day is going?”</p><p>Brian cringed, but had to laugh in spite of himself when he saw Freddie’s eyebrow arch up wickedly. “Oh...quite uneventful, you know. Called the Deputy Headmistress a secretary, was overwhelmed by a herd of children, got sick in a bin, somehow avoided getting sacked,” he counted on his fingers.</p><p>Freddie gasped. “You called Marjorie a what? Oh god, I would’ve loved to have witnessed that.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Brian said. “That…did not go over well.”</p><p>“I can only imagine!”</p><p>Brian frowned. “Hold on, did you just call her Marjorie? I thought we’re to call her ‘Ms Cole’ or perish by her sword?”</p><p>Freddie waved his hand airily. “Oh, those are just her scare tactics. Bullied me into wearing a suit – <em> a suit </em> – when I first started here! Can you imagine?”</p><p>Brian eyed Freddie’s outlandish getup and shook his head. He really couldn’t.</p><p>“Well, exactly. Only lasted about a week, mind you. Then I went straight back to wearing what I pleased. The rapture didn’t happen, though. I pestered her into going out to the pub, we had a few drinks and she opened up and let her first name slip and well. Now I call her Marjorie and she is too fed up to care. We get on. She can be quite a dear if she wants to.”</p><p>Brian stared. He couldn’t imagine Ms Cole knocking back drinks, or being a dear for that matter and he said as much.</p><p>“Eh, she may wear a tight bun and a constantly uptight expression, but she’s alright, you know.”</p><p>They sipped their tea silently for a moment.</p><p>Brian watched Freddie out of the corner of his eye. He studied his striking profile, his eyes following the angled plane of Freddie’s forehead, the sharp nose, down to his soft mouth which was pursed into another one of his small close-lipped smiles at the moment. Freddie seemed a little self conscious about his smile. But Brian thought it suited him very well indeed. Noticing Brian’s gaze, Freddie turned to look at him questioningly with those kind brown eyes of his and Brian hastily busied himself by taking a far too big gulp of scalding hot tea.</p><p>“So, how long have you been working here?” he rasped through the pain of a thoroughly burnt tongue and throat.</p><p>“Just over a year. I studied graphic design over at Ealing. Got my diploma, didn’t find any work at the big ad agencies here in London, applied at this shithole, got the job immediately, because nobody else applied. And here I am.” Freddie swept his arm out in a flourish and Brian laughed at this blunt honesty.</p><p>“Don’t tell Marjorie, I mean <em>Ms Cole</em>, that I called this place a shithole. She’s actually really managed to turn this school around quite a bit. Things used to be really bad round here. Kids bringing knives to school and stuff. That’s changed though.”</p><p>Brian gulped and thought of Gaz and his rowdy cronies and suddenly they seemed harmless by comparison.</p><p>“But most students are barely managing to scrape together O-Levels and the school is still totally underfunded.”</p><p>“Yeah, Headmaster Thompson said as much in my interview. Didn’t realise how true that would turn out to be. You’d think most of my Year Ten students had never opened a textbook.”</p><p>Freddie nodded. “It’s a miracle I still have this job. I bet the art department will be the first thing to go.” He gave Brian a sideways glance. “These kids need to learn maths but they can do without art, I suppose.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Brian began, but Freddie waved him away.</p><p>“Ah, nonsense, it’s not like I really want this job. Having a little bit of money for once is nice, of course. But this really isn’t what I want to do for the rest of my life.”</p><p>“No?” Brian asked, his mind drifting to his own aspirations, which leaned further towards music with each nitpicky memo his PhD supervisor sent him.</p><p>“Definitely not,” Freddie murmured into his tea. Then he flicked his eyes up to meet Brian’s. “What about you? What do you do when you’re not a substitute maths teacher?”</p><p>“I…,” Brian hesitated. “I’m writing up my PhD thesis at the moment. Astronomy,” he added when Freddie raised his eyebrows in awe. “But actually. Well, I have this band…” he trailed off.</p><p>“Really?” Freddie sat bolt upright. “You’re kidding! What do you play? Are you any good? Would I have seen you? What are your influences?”</p><p>The onslaught of questions bowled Brian over a little, but he happily told Freddie all about Smile, about their gigs, the record they’d made recently at which point Freddie let out an impressed gasp, how it had been a bit of a struggle getting gigs recently.</p><p>It turned out that Freddie himself was no stranger to that world. Not only could he do art, but he’d also sung in several bands over the years. His latest band, Wreckage, had broken up as of June, and he told Brian he’d been missing performing ever since. They chatted about loving the same artists – Beatles, Zeppelin, Hendrix. Brian even found out, to his astonishment, that Freddie knew their singer Tim somewhat, Tim having been two years behind Freddie at Ealing and they’d crossed paths at the odd party.</p><p>“Goodness, this is all very serendipitous, isn’t it?” Freddie exclaimed giddily. “I mean, all these connections we seem to have. I can’t believe I’ve never heard of Smile.”</p><p>Brian grinned. “This is brilliant.” He leaned back into the sofa, lolling his head to the side to face Freddie. “God, it’s so nice to talk about this stuff with–” he paused, trying to find the right words, “with somebody who is excited about music and who really gets it – and in a cluttered art room at a comprehensive, no less!”</p><p>Freddie let out a little laugh. “An alliance between the arts and the sciences, whatever next. It does feel a little rebellious, doesn’t it. Like we’re snot-nosed teenagers smoking behind the bicycle sheds during break.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Brian grinned.</p><p>“So you don’t talk about this stuff with the other two? Or with your family?”</p><p>“Well–” Brian thought of his father and his dismissiveness about the band, of his ex-girlfriend who had dumped him because he didn’t have time for her, of the somewhat tense atmosphere prevalent between Tim and him and Roger these past few weeks, of the way his social life had been deteriorating between playing and practising with Smile and the long hours he spent working on his PhD. “I mean, yeah, I do talk to Roger and Tim. They’re my closest mates and I know we’re all passionate about what we do, otherwise we wouldn’t be in a band together. We quarrel a lot though. Especially recently. I think Tim thinks the band isn’t going anywhere.”</p><p>“Because of the gigs?” Freddie asked sympathetically.</p><p>“Yeah. Sort of. I don’t know.” Brian rubbed the spot under his eye tiredly. “It just feels like we might have missed our chance. Our record did abysmally. We barely sold any copies..."</p><p>They fell silent for a moment.</p><p>"Anyway, now that I’ve brought the mood down and painted a thoroughly mediocre picture of my band,” Brian laughed and glanced at Freddie, feeling shy all of a sudden. “Would you, erm, maybe want to come see us in two weeks? We’ll be playing Imperial College. I can put you on the guest list. If– if you want to, that is.”</p><p>“Oh, I’d absolutely love to, Brian!” Freddie’s entire face lit up and Brian’s heart did a little leap.</p><p>“Great. Erm. Cool. I’ll let you know the details.”</p><p>With a big grin, Brian reached for a digestive and munched happily on it as Freddie launched into an enthusiastic rant about stage lighting and piano amps. He was feeling oddly light and floaty. Something about Freddie’s passion for music and his boundless enthusiasm and his great belief in himself charmed Brian to no end – “I know I’m without a band at the moment, dear, but just you wait, people will know my name one day. Freddie fucking Mercury.” – he’d even come up with a rockstar moniker, for god’s sake.</p><p>Brian wondered what Freddie’s singing voice sounded like. He had a slightly restrained way of speaking, but his laugh was big and melodious and husky and could fill an entire room and Brian liked it a lot. He thought Freddie probably sang the way he laughed. </p><p>They spent the rest of their free lesson finishing off their tea and demolishing the plate of biscuits, Brian’s nausea having completely passed, and the bell for lunch came and went and still they sat on the squashy little sofa in the back of the art room, Freddie cross-legged, Brian with his legs splayed out and relaxed and they talked and talked and all thoughts of Brian taking a nap were forgotten.</p><p>When the bell signalling the end of lunch rang, it was with great reluctance that Brian finally heaved himself out of his comfy spot and with a little yawn, stretched his arms above his head, joints popping.</p><p>“I’d better get going to my next lesson. This has been an absolute treat. Thanks, Freddie.”</p><p>Freddie, now looking slightly zoned out, eyes out of focus somewhere around Brian’s middle, started.</p><p>“Hm? Oh, erm. Yes. Same here. I mean. I don’t have to go anywhere. But next lesson.”</p><p>Brian dropped his arms down to his sides again and redid the top three buttons of his shirt which he’d carelessly unfastened while they’d been chatting. Then he stretched out a hand to Freddie.</p><p>“Seriously, Freddie. Thank you for…everything. I’m really grateful. Not just for being so kind and for the tea, but also this.” He gestured to the space between them. “It’s nice to get to know a friendly face on my first day at a scary new job.”</p><p>Freddie took his hand and shook it. “Pleasure,” he said softly, eyes warm. "My door is always open, Brian. I mean that."</p><p>For some reason, Brian felt himself blush.</p><p>They stood there for a few seconds, Freddie’s palm clasped in his, before Brian drew away. He really did have to get to his next lesson. With a final smile and a nod goodbye he picked up his bag and hurried from the room as the second bell rang, only glancing back once, quick enough to see Freddie smiling a big toothy smile to himself.</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the school day went by quite painlessly. Brian made it through another two lessons, but this time with docile eleven and twelve-year-olds who were slightly more receptive to his teaching, yet were no less noisy. But Brian’s mind was still so preoccupied with his encounter with Freddie, he wouldn’t have noticed a stampede of elephants charging through the classroom.</p><p>Because he didn’t hold a full position and was only filling in for a couple of classes, his first day finished at 2.30pm, meaning he would have enough time to get to the astronomy department at Imperial College to continue his data input. Brian felt quite drained after his quite eventful day, and the prospect of having to stare at glowing green numbers on a black screen until dinnertime was not something he was looking forward to. But even that couldn’t quite dampen Brian’s good mood at having made a friend today – a friend who wasn’t a stuffy old teacher, a friend who liked the same music, who wore cool clothes and who was excited to see his band, a friend who had brown eyes and a nice laugh and who had stroked his hand while he’d been sick – and it was with this thought that Brian walked back to Roger’s Morris Minor, a little spring in his step.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this, feel free to leave a comment or a kudos :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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